Everyone has my number,

But none of them know me.

They think I should want something.

It’s nothing I could use or admire.

I no longer want many things.

I have plenty of things.

I don’t want what they’re selling,

They push themselves to do this

Around a few bucks an hour plus commission.

It may pay more than fast food or retail

But the relentless assault,

The commercial on a phone line

Wears my patience and compassion.

Home security,

Car service plans,

Life insurance,

Credit card loans.

Time to put the phone down

And walk away to the woods.

No cell phone connection,

Only the sounds of drifting leaves

And migrating birds.

Time to recharge my soul

Without another onslaught

Of requests for my money.



© 2017 Valerie Hathaway

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